


Rock Bottom

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fights, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Trouble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3950989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bumblebee and his ever shrinking team are redeployed to finish cleaning up the few Decepticons left in the galaxy. He runs into a familiar face and things escalate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock Bottom

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for herzspalter on my tumblr! This was very fun to write, and it was a pleasure working with you! Enjoy!

 

“There’s only five of them, but it’s a haul anyways.”

“You say that like it negates the fact that this is at least a- a ten percent decrease in productivity!”

If he weren’t being paid, Bumblebee would have left the moment he heard Sentinel’s voice. Without even needing to see his reaction, Bulkhead nudged his shoulder a bit, pulling Bumblebee from the momentary lapse in reality he had slipped into without breaking form.

“I know it is a decrease, Sir,” Prowl was saying, “but if anything it looks better for the Guard. There are hardly any Decepticons left to pick up.”

They entered the room just in time to catch Sentinel’s exaggerated toss of the helm, optics rolling upwards as if he hoped some deity would descend from space to slap sense into his agents.

“That’s the kind of thing scrubs like you start saying when you get bored and lazy. I don’t have time for either of those things, do you understand?”

He didn’t even nod to Bumblebee and Bulkhead as they lined up with their squad leader, saluting.

“Yes, Sir.”

Prowl’s lips were so tight the words barely escaped, but all Sentinel cared about was obedience and he let it slide, turning back to the main console of the ship’s bridge and continuing his readout of the captured Decepticon specs. Having been informally dismissed from conversation, Prowl turned on his heel, not yet ready to speak without malice. Getting the hint, Bumblebee turned with him, using Bulkhead’s body to largely hide their conversation from their Magnus.

“What, even after we bagged two clones in one go he’s still got his fiber-optics in a twist?”

“The fewer distractions he has for the public, the less cover his weak government has.” His mouth twisted further. “Underestimating us was always his biggest flaw.”

Nodding quietly and ignoring the niggling urge to make a joke, Bumblebee glanced back at the front of the room where Sentinel was now grousing at the helmsman for something, Jetfire and Jetstorm staring stonily ahead at his shoulders.

“So we’re being redeployed, basically.”

“Yes.”

Prowl’s fist twitched shut, the metal of his knuckles squealing a bit at the force. They had only been back on the mothership for a home world solar cycle, and none of them had been to maintenance. Bulkhead put a hand on his shoulder, using just enough force to keep Prowl steady.

“How long do we have?”

His voice seemed to travel down through his arm, soft and calming. Prowl’s fists relaxed.

“Within a cycle. I would suggest you get yourselves looked at before we leave.”

“You too, alright?”

Prowl said nothing.

“Alright?” Bulkhead was frowning in a way Prowl didn’t need to see to feel.

“…Yes. I just have some filing to do before I leave.”

Bumblebee stepped in front of him, offering a wry grin.

“Don’t do anything Ratchet would pound you for.”

The mention of their old comrade almost made him smile.

* * *

 

After Megatron, there had been changes. Of course that was to be expected, but that didn’t make them any more pleasant. Leadership and where it should lie was in a delicate balance, Sentinel’s pride in the air, and Decepticon attacks became more common, more bold, less controlled or planned. That meant that in some cases they were easier to fend off, with no leading force behind them, but they were still Decepticons and they still had more sense for war than anyone else.

Optimus was on Cybertron with Ratchet and they’d been stuck out here, cleanup crew, just like always, but this time the job came with medals.

“I hate it here.”

Bumblebee spoke to no one and got the answer he expected. The black stillness of space beyond the port window of the transport vessel was slowly splitting open with a purple would, the small cluster of metals and rocks that made up what was left of the Decepticon’s stomping grounds. Chaar loomed like a dead bat on the horizon. What had once been the supposed haven of the punished species was now nothing more than the first base in a fast and dirty game, the starting plate for the hunt. Bee had been there seven times in the last stellar cycle and he hated it more every time.

They were all unwell, of course, in their sparks. Nothing felt concrete anymore. It was hard to go from the group environment they had enjoyed on Earth to the black and white law of Cybertron again. On Earth, capturing and containing had been enough. The Decepticons had their own stories, their own rights. He wasn’t a sympathizer – he’d seen what they could do, had done, first hand. But this was not sport, and it wasn’t justice, and he wasn’t someone’s errand bot.

Especially not Sentinel’s.

“Bumblebee?”

It was Prowl. He still had that way of sneaking up on bots even without meaning to, so he had taken to announcing himself whenever he entered a room. Bumblebee could see he was still clicking his knuckles together at his side, a sign that he had never gotten around to being serviced. He chose not to comment.

“Are we there yet?”

Prowl’s frown twitched.

“I think you know the answer perfectly well yourself.”

Bumblebee stood, stretching his back struts and arms in a long, exaggerated motion, and smacked his lips together.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

Prowl gave him a look.

“And,” Bumblebee continued, trying not to push the game _too_ far, “I’m, uh, ready to be debriefed.”

Sighing, Prowl let his shoulders droop a fraction.

“We don’t have much info. A few loose ends,” he looked beyond Bumblebee, out the window to where Chaar was becoming clearer, “I wasn’t lying to Sentinel; there’s almost no one left.”

He didn’t say anything else, but Bumblebee knew what he was thinking. He rubbed at his chest absently. The wings that had been painted on beside his Autobrand were starting to itch.

“Do we at least know who we’re looking for?”

“Not really. All the big names have already been put into custody. Well, most of them.”

”I can’t even keep track anymore.” Bumblebee looked away, forcing a small laugh. Prowl paused a moment, then relaxed, putting a hand on Bumblebee’s shoulder in a rare display of comradery.

“We’ll be done soon.”

“Yeah,” said Bumblebee, “I know.”

Bulkhead’s voice flickered to life over the intercom, sputtering as if he actually knew he was interrupting what passed as a tender moment.

“ _Uh, Prowl? Bumblebee? We’ll be docking soon.”_

* * *

 

Chaar has once been a sea of wave like rock formations, the wild crust of some long dead planet peeled and scattered through the purple dust of an old star, but after Megatron’s final capture the Autobots had broken past the feeble borders they themselves had erected and bombed it flat. Now it was as dull as it was dead.

Out on the violet dust, Bumblebee grimaced, thinking about how he would have to spend the cycle after the mission’s end picking clumps of sand and rock from between his treads. Technically it wasn’t an organic world, but it had the kind of rocks and dust Cybertron didn’t and he needed to remove all ‘contaminants’ before their return. Of course, the fancy spa treatment Sentinel got for these kinda of missions was only available for the higher ranks. Of course.

“So,” Bumblebee kicked up a small cloud of particles that hung in the low gravity like a miniature rain cloud, “any idea where to start?”

Bulkhead was staring up at the flat ground before them and made no move to respond. Prowl gave Bumblebee a look, and had just opened his mouth to shake their largest member from his stupor when Bulkhead cut him off.

“well, the ship was getting weak signs of movement from the lower X50 Y80 South cluster over there, but there was a bunch’a heat signatures in the X73 Y22 area too.”

He shrugged. Prowl grimaced.

“That could mean anything. Those could just be rocks.”

“I know,” said Bulkhead, a little too quick to cover himself despite not having been accused of anything, “I’m just saying, those are our only two leads right now.”

He rubbed his arm, frazzled.

“Sentinel always sends us out here with no intel. There’s nothing to see.”

Bumblebee pursed his lips and whistled a long, high note.

“So basically, we’re out here for nothing.”

He turned to the two other members of the tiny crew.

“Split up?”

Prowl sighed a long suffering sigh.

“Bumblebee…”

“What!” Bumblebee threw up his hands, laughing in his exasperation, “there’s nothing out here! I know the rules but this is just- just busy work!”

“I know as well as you do how likely we are, or are not, to find anything today,” Prowl said, choosing his words carefully, “but that does not give us free range to be sloppy.”

“He does kinda have a point though.”

Bulkhead tapped his pincers together, almost bashful.

“I mean, if we do end up finding anything we can just call it in. it’s not like there’s much room to get ambushed out here.”

“Our team is barely enough to perform containment procedures on our own. Breaking the rules just because we’re bored is just an easy way to get ourselves put offline. Maybe it would be alright if we were just killing time, but Sentinel requires a catch every single mission we return from right now. You know what Optimus would say.”

“Alright, alright, fine, fine,” Bumblebee crossed his arms, kicking again, “but don’t blame me for the next six eons of boredom.”

There had been significant advances in weapons technology in the short time between their return to Cybertron as heroes and their redeployment as cleaners. Bumblebee wasn’t sure how new it really all was though – he had heard some things while staying on Steelhaven, mostly from the twins, and while he was always pretty doubtful of tall tales it was hard to turn away from the evidence, ever since Ratchet had fully explained who Omega Supreme had been, and since Jetstorm had pulled out a picture of his old life, the way he and his brother had looked before – well, it wasn’t important. They had new weapons and that was as far as they were authorized to think about it.

They were bulky things, stuff that couldn’t be installed into the frame but had to be carried, smaller frames like Bumblebee even utilizing a large strap that circled over his neck and shoulder. Decepticon Neutralizers, D-Con Fragmentors, Con Slaggers, all the cute names serialized to make them seem more fun to lug around than they were. Sure, Bulkhead could swing three from each shoulder, but even Prowl was bound to grimace and grunt softly after a while of having to endure the butt of whatever weapon he’s picked out smack into his lower back.

Apart from having a slightly better chance at not getting squashed by a Decepticon, the best part of the new toys they were given as a part of the job was the basically un-hijackable ships. At least, for Decepticons it would be hard. They were small, for one thing, too small for many to get away with even if they had the chance. That didn’t seem like much of an upgrade until the first time they chased a downed flyer model back to their current landing pad and watched her struggle to even get the door open. On top of that, there were entire hordes of scans, more than Omega had, and they were touchy. This was also a gift and a curse, as it had attempted to lock up and repulse Bumblebee once after he had fallen on Goo VIII and tried to slop back inside without a proper wash. Prowl had approved.

He also approved of the fact that it meant he could march their afts all the way across a planet without worrying where the ship was and how it was doing. They had tracking devices and homing beacons and all sort of shiny implants and gadgets that made sure of their transport’s safety. It didn’t really make the slog both ways feel any better, but Prowl liked the fresh air and the dank rocks and all that bothersome fluff, and it also meant long missions could be taken without having to account for a base of operations. Long missions like the one they were apparently embarking on.

“We’re gonna be rust before we find anything out here. Slag, we’re gonna be the rust that fell off our original rust. We’re gonna be the rust caking some next generation bot’s boots when they show up, probably with, like, six legs and built in gun arms, and they are _still_ be the first thing we’re gonna see.”

No one responded. It was best to just let him vent.

“There’s nothing and no one out here! Are you sure those scanners were even on? You don’t have dust in your optics again, do ya, Bulky?”

Bulkhead groaned.

“That was one time! In training camp!”

“Still happened.”

“Bumblebee.”

Prowl pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge, more annoyed than anything.

“We are in the field. Show some maturity, if you can.”

Bumblebee snorted, arms akimbo.

“We’re in _a_ field, yeah.”

Sighing with great gusto, Prowl turned to look at him.

“You are very determined to get sent back to the ship, as usual.”

Immediately defensive, Bumblebee snapped, “no!”

Undeterred, Prowl advanced a step.

“Then why,” he said, almost fully losing his cool, “do you put so much of your energy into bothering us instead of your actual job?”

“You think I don’t know how to do my job?”

“I never said that.”

“But you meant it!”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.”

Bulkhead stepped between them, nervously waving his hands.

“Hey now, guys, don’t turn this into something it isn’t.”

“I’ll tell you what it isn’t!” the scream of a jet engine suddenly cracked between them, _“boring!”_

The switch was instant; they scattered, trying to make themselves moving targets, looking for vantage points. At the same time all optics were on the sky, the black, atmosphere-less cloth of space above them. It was a good thing that their attacker didn’t care much for hiding.

“Hallo again, Autobot scum!”

Cackling madly, the jet roared overhead, an icy missile landing just where Prowl had been standing a moment before.

“Blitzwing!”

Recognition flowed warm through Bumblebee’s circuits. He had thought Blitzwing was-

Rolling overhead, Blitzwing fired another shot, this one a blaze of fire, at Bulkhead’s green mass. Bumblebee ducked to the side, swinging the bulky weapon he’d been issued over his knee, aiming without a second thought. Air targets were a normal part of practice but even though he wasn’t particularly fast, Blitzwing’s erratic movements were impossible to predict. All the standard issue fragmentors were laser weapons, which mean they didn’t run out of ammo, but they did have a limited battery supply that could be easily overheated. The war models had battery packs that were easy to eject and replace in the midst of the fray, but Decepticon Hunters like this, while significantly stronger, relied on the period they were being used being very limited and came without ejection mods. That meant he had to make his shots count.

Prowl was getting frustrated. Bumblebee couldn’t see him, still trying to aim, but he could hear him snarl as another hairpin turn shook the Con from his crosshairs.

“Vell, now you _are_ boring me.”

Blitzwing’s voice had deepened, the only indication of his change in face. Bumblebee fired a shot.

Arcing up into the sky, the first laser was thinned out in the faint atmosphere before it even hit Blitzwing’s vapor trail. Again laughing loudly, the jet circled around them like a vulture, hooting a loud “missed me, missed me, now jou hafta-!” and flew right into the path of Bumblebee’s next shot.

It didn’t quite connect. Blitzwing saw the blast and turned at just the right nano-klik, yelling incoherently as is barely clipped his wingtip. He was solid metal, not at all built as a showy model, so it was likely he barely felt it. It certainly didn’t skew his flight trajectory as he turned and made a straight dive towards Bumblebee’s position.

“Ah, now _that_ is vhat I am looking for! Bring it, you miserable insects!”

“Bee, move!”

Prowl did not have time to dart forward and pull him to safety as he normally did. Bumblebee didn’t need help ducking over his weapon and rolling to the side, dodging a thin line of fire that was growing ever steadily as the jet descended, changed, his form becoming boxier and more compact, a tank that sank down through the airless void like a thrown boulder. There was nowhere for him to hide in the flat landscape, though he tried, kicking back on his heels and letting his wheels drive into the soft rock, shooting him back along his aft in a small cloud of dust. The loose terrain crumbled beneath his tread, too slow, and then Blitzwing hit the ground.

It was loud. Bumblebee had expected it to be loud, but he hadn’t expected it to be so intimately close. It was ridiculous to assume that the tank had changed directions mid-flight, and as the ground seemed too slid away beneath him, Bumblebee came to the conclusion that he had miscalculated the exact landing point Blitzwing had been heading for. Prowl yelled something and Bee looked up at him, way up, and watched as the blue visor of his friend was swallowed by blackness.

* * *

 

He finished rebooting seconds before hitting the ground. The worst combination of disorientation and pain shocked his system, so much so that he didn’t register that the fall had stopped, dizzy, on his side, the room spinning in his eyes. Things were still crashing down around him, bits of rock, twists of metal. If it weren’t for the lower gravity he might have been seriously injured.

“Ah… zat vas unexpected.”

Bumblebee wanted to lie inert for another fifteen kliks to get his sensory net back to normal, but the voice was so close behind him that he practically jumped away from it, reaching for the sling with him gun. Only it wasn’t around his shoulder anymore. Dizziness swarmed his visual feed with static for a moment as he tried to recalibrate.

“Oh!” the cold voice became delighted, “looks who’s decided to join me!”

From the darkness a purple blob solidified. Bumblebee jumped back further, grimacing.

“Damnit Blitzwing!”

He hadn’t meant to sound so crassly exasperated, but that was what came out. Once he had begun, it was hard to stop.

“Where the slag are we? What the hell happened! Really, after all these stellar cycles, you can’t remember to, I dunno, _not_ turn into a tank mid-air!”

Blitzwing laughed at him.

“Zat is not very professional of jou!”

“Yeah I know,” snapped Bumblebee, “I’m hilarious.”

His vision was beginning to come back. There was a lot of rubble, but the gun must have come down with them. For all the advancements the Guard had made in engineering the perfect defensive device, they couldn’t bother to put in a beep function?

Blitzwing, who had apparently been lying on his back during this conversation, transformed and sat up, rubble sliding off him like rainwater. Bumblebee jumped back, as if he was close enough to matter.

“Don’t try anything!”

“Or vat? Jou’ll complain me to death?”

Chuckling at his own joke, Blitzwing took no action whatsoever, cycling through a few faces as he looked up above them. Bumblebee, still looking for his weapon, heard the sound of his monocle cycling in and out.

“It appears zat we’ve fallen though to a preexisting cavern.”

“Fascinating.”

“Perhaps jou should try to spare me jour sass. I could just come ofer zere and squash jou, jou know.”

“But you wouldn’t, would you?”

Bumblebee regretted saying it the moment the words left his vocalizer. Blitzwing blinked, surprised.

“Really now?”

And then he smiled.

“Are jou really so sentimental?”

Muttering beneath his breath, Bumblebee glared at him.

“Forget I said anything, bolt brain.”

“No, no,” Blitzwing pushed himself up onto his knees, smiling a gap toothed grin, “jou meant something by zat. Jou still care.”

Bumblebee scooted further back, stumbling over some gravel. He shot Blitzwing another look.

“Jou still vant zis,” Blitzwing cooed, swapping faces to show off his jagged red grin.

“Like I want a hole in my gas tank.”

The force of his retort made him sit up higher, the pain in his helm finally pulsing to a fade, and it was then that he noticed the shoulder strap of the gun across the room, just a few feet behind Blitzwing’s aft.

“Jou wound me!”

Blitzwing brought a hand to his chest in mock shock.

“That was kinda the general idea.”

Moving to crouch low again, Bumblebee evaluated his situation. The gleam of gunmetal links on the strap called to him, but Blitzwing was in the way. Blitzwing, who was calling up unwanted emotions and memories from before all this. Blitzwing, who didn’t appear to have been damaged by the crash whatsoever despite his greater mass.

“Look, Blitzy, we don’t really wanna go through this again, do we?”

“Vy not?”

He was teasing him. Bumblebee reset his vocalizer, beginning to settle into his position.

“Well,” he said, “for one thing, you just tried to kill me and my friends.”

“Since ven is zat new?”

Another cackle.

“For another thing,” Bumblebee continued, voice rising with agitation, “you’re a lot more annoying than I remembered!”

“Jou love it!”

Blitzwing stuck out his tongue.

“Primus! That’s exactly what I mean!”

Bumblebee threw up his hands and clutched at the air as if to strangle it. Standing on his knees, he moved forward, still gesticulating.

“Every time we meet up, every time! You make dumb jokes and you do that weird tongue thing, you know what I mean, and you just expect me to ignore that you keep trying _to kill me!”_

Swapping faces, Blitzwing frowned.

“Jou and jour friends, as jou call them, are here to do the same to me and my countrymech.”

Bumblebee advanced another foot, pulling himself into a kneel. It hurt a little to do, his plating, though relatively unscarred, had dented a bit in the knees and they ached as if he had been doing hard labor.

“It’s not the same!”

“I fail to see how.”

“That’s on you, not me.”

“Ah,” Blitzwing sighed, smirking just enough to show his teeth, “I see jou are still terrible at arguments.”

Bumblebee flattened his shoulders.

“It won’t matter soon anyways.”

“Vy not?”

“Be- _cause!”_

Bee leapt forward, turning the wheels on his heels at the same moment and launching himself across the cavern. He hit the ground right by Blitzwing’s leg, before the Decepticon had even fully registered his movement, and rolled on his shoulder, grabbing the strap of his weapon and yanking it from beneath the rock. Still rolling, he let himself lose momentum naturally as he turned upright, setting his stance, and aiming.

Only there was nothing to aim. In his arms, the torn off scrap of strap metal hung limp.

Blitzwing turned around and stared at him.

“Uhm.”

He looked at his hand and the useless article within it, then back to the boulder he’d grabbed it from, where he could now see from his new vantage point the totally flattened corner of the rest of the weapon underneath.

Blitzwing laughed manically, a loud, sharp laugh that filled the entire cavern and then echoed back, amplifying his embarrassment tenfold.

“S-shut up!”

Bumblebee threw the useless metal on the ground, suddenly overcome by the same petulant rage he always fell back on.

“Shut the slag up, Blitz-brain!”

The switch was sudden. Red with rage, Blitzwing flew at him, arms outstretched, and then Bumblebee was pinned to the wall and his audio receptors were ringing all over again.

_“Did jou really think jou could shoot me down!?”_

Bumblebee yelled in angry incoherence and Blitzwing shook him a bit, the back of his helm flaring with pain as it bumped the wall.

“G-g-get o-off m-me!” Bumblebee yelped, clamoring at his wrists in an attempt to stop the shaking. Whether his screeching worked or not, the world suddenly stilled, and as he reset his optics Bumblebee found himself face to face with Blitzwing’s calmest expression.

“I suppose,” he said, drawing out the syllables until Bumblebee could practically feel them against his face, “I should give jou a break. Jou only have so much processing power, after all.”

“Slagger,” Bumblebee spat, meaning it.

For a moment they glared at each other in silence.

Then they were kissing.

It was fast and violent, like a punch to the lip. Bumblebee reached up and grabbed Blitzwing by the brim of his helm, yanking on it to keep him still, as if he had any intention of leaving. He was almost surprised by how easily Blitzwing gave to his angry biting, the way he opened his mouth, almost smug about it, but then, it had never been any other way. Biting his lip hard enough to bruise, Bee practically ground their faces together, hoping to hurt him, wanting to.

But Blitzwing was so hard to hurt. Even now he was smiling, his big mouth curving up at the corners as Bumblebee tongued him. It only exposed more of his mouth, though, and Bee yanked them closer together, thrusting his glossa up to run along the blunt ends of his teeth.

Blitzwing pulled back, licking his lips.

“Zere… zat wasn’t so hard.”

Bumblebee kicked him, rather ineffectually.

“Don’t start with me!”

He lunged in, holding onto Blitzwing’s wrists, and bumped their nasal ridges together, missing his mouth and not caring. Kissing a hot line under the monocle on Blitzwing’s cold face, he bit at the protruding edges of his helm, at his jaw line, trying to maneuver his chest closer. Blitzwing held him fast at first but, seeming to recognize what he wanted, pulled them flush, taking the pressure off Bee’s back. His hands crept down to Bumblebee’s aft, squeezing at his waist, the plates of his canopy where it curved protectively over his spine.

It felt so good. Bumblebee hated to admit it even to himself but it did. Familiar. He and Blitzwing had a history of this, of intimacy taken from violent private moments together. It had started in a similar way, in the midst of a fight, with the others all around them shooting and dodging, because Lugnut had been there too, and Blitzwing had kissed him. He was enraged at the time, seeing it as a taunt, which is partially was, and had fought even harder, embarrassed.

When it happened again it was just the two of them, in the woods, in a crater of charred landscape, and that time they hadn’t stopped. Bumblebee was angry and Blitzwing was taunting and teasing and he hadn’t stopped until Bumblebee had shoved his spike between his lips. That almost didn’t shut him up either.

Now he was still laughing, madly, curling his fingers into Bumblebee’s shapely aft and picking at the seams.

“Want to play, ja?”

“Shut up!” he snapped, dropping his hips down into Blitzwing’s hands anyways, grinding against the cockpit on his waist, “you’re so annoying!”

“And jour no fun!”

Blitzwing changed faces, leaning down as Bumblebee began to slide down his chest and gnawing at one of his horns. It hurt a little, but Bumblebee wanted it to hurt, and it felt equally good too, almost more so because of it. He bucked his hips, satisfied but the small screech of metal on metal, Blitzwing’s broad waist between his legs now. Hooking his finger’s in the edges of the Decepticon’s chest. Blitzwing’s fans jumped and sputtered on, clouds of meteorite dust wafting from his vents as the air around them stirred.

“C’mon,” he said, muffling his words in Blitzwing’s armor, “hurry up. Let’s do this.”

Blitzwing huffed with quiet laughter, “as jou wish, commander”

Bumblebee bit him again, chewing on the corners of his chest pieces as if it would do anything other than make Blitzwing shiver and chuckle and moan almost mockingly. The hands on his aft pulled him down until they were crotch to crotch, and Bumblebee wasted no time in feeing his spike, still clawing at any metal available to him as he rutted his hips. His spike was so small against Blitzwing’s belly, but he felt the Con heat considerably at the feel of it and it sent a rush of pride to his head, satisfaction. Good, he thought, Blitzwing should be excited. He’s lucky he’s getting to see this much of me at all.

“Put me down,” he muttered, trying to reach between Blitzwing’s legs, “I want-I wanna do this already.”

Apparently finally giving in to their probably time constraints, Blitzwing complied, lowering them both back until he was sat on his haunches and Bumblebee was between them, licking a messy streak on his black glass.

“I doubt jour little friends vill find us so soon,” he said, almost gasping, “If I remember correctly.”

“Underestimating us was always your biggest flaw.”

Bumblebee was almost directly quoting Prowl from a prior fight, a prior job, and while the words had simply come on their own they left a sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t want to be reminded why they were here.

He nudged Blitzwing back, still pawing at him and being pawed, to lay back more, though he infuriatingly seemed to silently insist on remaining upright on his elbows, and slid between his thick thighs. He’d always loved those thighs; thick, bulky shapes, not streamlined, not clean cut. Everything about Blitzwing was meant for battle. It was, as with all Decepticons, who he was.

And yet here, now, he was parting his thighs invitingly, parting his panels and letting his spike spring up between them, his valve-

“Ooh, yes,” Blitzwing moaned, beginning to lose his mocking edge, “zere.”

Bumblebee’s hands were on him, slipping down farther to squat between his legs, fingering the external folds of Blitzwing’s valve. His lips met with the head of Blitzwing’s spike – it was right there anyways – and though he refused to try and fit something that wide down his throat ever since he’d gotten his own fist stuck there once(Ratchet had had to unscrew his entire lower jaw. It was very painful), he had no reservations about sucking on the head with as much sloppy gusto as he could manage. He couldn’t really see what he was doing with his hands, but it was familiar, too, a feeling he wouldn’t soon, if ever, forget.

Perhaps, at another time, he would have been more careful, taken his time in letting Blitzwing pleasure him back, tickle his spike up to attention, maybe suck on it, as he had been so good at doing before, maybe stick his long and prehensile tongue up his valve to squirm around, but now was a rushed time, in the bottom of a pit on a rock in space with Primus only knew how little kliks they had before Bulkhead or, more likely, Prowl, interrupted. He hoped to have them find him in a more dignified position.

He slid his fingers between the lips of Blitzwing’s valve, taking in the heat. He was wet, though that was to be expected at this point, but the warmth was really as remarkable as he remembered. He had joked, once, crudely, that the temperature must change with Blitzwing’s faces, but was actually rather glad it didn’t. Ice was not a pleasant sensation to have around your spike, another lesson he learned early on. Easing two fingers in the scissored them quickly, not completely surprised as how easy it was. Blitzwing was larger than him, after all, and there was no telling if he had been with another mech since they last met. No one had ever said they had to be exclusive. It still made him grit his dental grill. Yet another thing to stop thinking about.

Adding a third, he thrust them quickly, not worried at all about letting him adjust. Blitzwing was sighing happily, looking down his nasal ridge at Bumblebee. He was smiling, that little gap in his teeth just barely showing, and Bumblebee almost growled.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

Choosing to not respond verbally, Blitzwing clenched his valve, letting Bumblebee feel the slick slide of his charged nodules. It was good.

Cursing, Bumblebee ripped his arm away, spike throbbing in a mirror of the pulse around his fingers. Anchoring an arm on Blitzwing’s waist, he slid forward, lining himself up.

“This doesn’t mean anything, alright?”

He was angry, or at least he thought he was, but his voice sounded hollow and unsure.

“Alright.”

Blitzwing’s tone was undecipherable, Bumblebee told himself, completely opaque, unreadable. He pushed inside.

“S-laaaag!”

So, so hot. Bumblebee has to ground himself a moment, wrapping his free hand around Blitzwing’s spike and stroking it numbly. He rubbed his hips in little circles, feeling the burn fill him, from his pelvic span to his spark. Blitzwing laughed and then moaned, changing, but unified in his obvious enjoyment. Ever impatient, he bumped their hips together.

“Move, scraplet, or I vill move for jou.”

 “Shut- mmm.”

Bumblebee dragged their hips apart, feeling the calipers around him flex and cycle down to accommodate his size, and then thrust back in, jerkily, without having practiced for a long time, but the motions were still there, still right. Blitzwing moaned again, louder than necessary, letting it echo back off the sharp rocks.

Picking up the pace, Bumblebee let their hips hit hard, not caring for the loud sound, gratified by the little jolts and creaks when their plating met. They were swapping paint for sure, something he would undoubtedly regret soon, but it felt so good, after all this time, the rush, the heat, the knowledge that this was against The Rules and the excitement of possibly getting caught for it. He wanted Blitzwing to have yellow stripes on his thighs, to look like he’d been chewed up and spat out by some great golden beast, and he wanted to be that beast, proud and sated and getting off on sneaking around. He wanted to feel that young and stupid again.

As it was, the pressure around him wasn’t going to let him last long. Blitzwing had this way on clenching in a specific rhythm, starting at the mouth of his valve and then cycling to the back, sucking him in deeper, that drove him insane even now. It was a practiced move, one that sharply contrasted his jagged, rough movements, and yet they fit together so well, his small size still working for them both. Maybe Blitzwing just liked his smaller spike. There was no denying the average Decepticon model, the big, sharp, swaying thing he now jerked on like a thick length of pipe in his palm, was bigger than anything he could have hoped to be packing, but it worked.

“Oh, little bug,” Blitzwing murmured, chest heaving as he began to pump his hips upwards into the rhythm, “you’ve barely gotten better at this. Maybe worse.”

“And you’ve gotten lo-looser.”

Shuttering his optics but keeping his grin, Blitzwing puffed out steam. The slick noises between them grew louder as they moved, faster, lubricant beginning to slick his thighs.

“Oh, I’ve always loved jour little smart mouth.”

Shut up, Bumblebee thought, but out of his mouth came, “and I’ve always loved y-!”

He overloaded, saving them both the notion, hips shuddering hard as Blitzwing clenched, locking him still. Electrical discharge shot up his spine, out his chest, brilliant, lighting up the whole cavern, but as his spike discharged and he slumped against Blitzwing’s chest Bumblebee could only feel drained.

* * *

 

“I should turn you in, you know,” he said, leaning against Blitzwing’s side. The mangled mess of his blaster had come undone during their quick frag, and was now sitting uselessly across from him on the floor. It was almost funny.

“Vell,” said Blitzwing, and then he sighed and shrugged, “vat can jou do.”

“Yeah,” said Bumblebee, shrugging as well. His communication frequency fizzled with static, but Prowl’s voice was clear in the mess, _come in, Bumblebee, come in, are you hurt? Ten kliks from your location!_ “What can you do.”


End file.
